


You Will Be Mine, By Taking Our Time

by growtilltall (ThereAreFiveLights)



Series: Coffee Shop AU [1]
Category: Daft Punk
Genre: AU, Coffee Shop, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-15 11:25:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1303144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereAreFiveLights/pseuds/growtilltall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guy owns a café on Thomas's university campus which Thomas begins to frequent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a modern day human AU! Thomas; Guy are both 20-21ish years old, but it's taking place in our time rather than the 90s because writing about the 90s is just... so inconvenient. You know, cell phones and the internet and stuff.
> 
> * This is not beta'd, so please forgive any really ridiculous errors and I'll fix them when I haven't been awake for over 30 consecutive hours. The title is taken from a Zeppelin song: What Is And What Should Never Be.

Friday

Thomas entered the café on a complete whim.

He had considered himself to be well adjusted to the state of overworked anxiety since he managed to survive his first two years of university, but something about sitting through yet another of Dr. Bertrand's lectures on atonal theory was just too much to bear. So, Thomas did what any self-respecting college student would do: he wandered about the outskirts of campus until he found a decent hole in the wall to hide out for the hour and fifteen minutes he should have spent sitting in class.

The coffee shop wasn't what one would describe as trendy, or even attractive in a run down sort of way. It lacked the umbrella and table filled veranda and brightly colored sign typical of most Paris cafés. Instead, the name "CRYDAMOURE" was printed in block letters right above the door and a single bench sat in front of one of the wide windows. In fact, if there hadn't been someone sitting outside leisurely smoking a cigarette, Thomas wouldn't have even realized it was a functioning establishment.

As he approached, the man put out his cigarette and squinted up at Thomas.

"You're not here for a coffee, are you?" he asked. His dark hair fell in waves over one side of his face. If he hadn't had such a deep voice, Thomas might have mistaken him for a woman.

Thomas shrugged.

"I just need quiet for a while."

The long haired man sighed heavily and opened the door to the café. "I guess you'd better come in then," he said, ushering Thomas in before following himself.

It was dim inside, as if half the light bulbs had burned out and the majority of the light came in through the softly tinted windows. Thomas immediately picked out a small table by the smaller of the two windows and set down his bag. He watched as the man, apparently an employee, haphazardly tied an apron around his waist and began to fiddle with a record player by the bar. Thomas's attention was piqued immediately when Earth, Wind, & Fire began to play softly. This was obviously a fellow music lover.

"Don't just stand there like an idiot. Aren't you going to order something?" the man said suddenly, sliding in behind the cash register and leaning over the counter with a grimace.

Thomas froze, his mouth partly open. Weren't baristas supposed to be edgy and polite or something?

His confusion doubled when he looked up at the menu scribbled on a tremendous blackboard on the wall. There were two dozen or so drinks with their respective sizes and prices scribbled messily and some had obvious titles like: _Whole Lotta Mocha_ or _Back in Chai_ and _Dark Side of Espresso_. Unfortunately, whoever named the drinks hadn't quite gotten around to making them all descriptive yet because others were just called: _Purple Rain_ , _Space Oddity_ , and _Dazed and Confused_. The most disconcerting one was _Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You_ , mostly because Thomas couldn't tell if it was a statement or an actual drink name and the longer he stood and stared at the board, the more impatient the barista became.

"So... what... what are most of these?" he finally asked, feeling sheepish under the barista's scowl.

"They're the drinks I know how to make," he replied dryly. "If you don't like them, you can go loiter in another café."

Thomas quickly ordered a _Hotter than Latte_ because it seemed like the safest thing on the list and paid for it, then stood around awkwardly as the barista (his name tag said _GuillauMAN_ on it and Thomas didn't want to attempt a pronunciation and risk upsetting him even further) started pumping this and that into his cup. It didn't occur to Thomas until he had the completed drink in his hands that he hadn't even ordered a size, so he ended up with the smallest one and another scowl for his business.

The rest of the hour passed slowly. Every couple of songs, _GuillauMAN_ would put on another record (First Marvin Gaye, then Chic) and Thomas would have something else to tap his pen to as he read through his advanced composition notes until the barista finally hissed, "Will you fucking stop?"

It was all, Thomas reflected with a frown, a rather miserable experience, but the coffee and atmosphere were uncommonly good enough that he left a nice tip and mentally catalogued the café's location on his way out.

 

Tuesday

The next time Thomas found himself standing outside CRYDAMOURE, it was with the hope that the barista would be a different one than the last time. Maybe he'd even been fired by now. There was no way someone with that bad an attitude was good for business after all.

He let himself in, bag slung over his shoulder, only to come disturbingly close to running into the same barista as he swept the floor.

"You again? Once wasn't enough?" _GuillauMAN_ said, nose crinkling. He left the broom leaned up against the wall and went behind the counter, tapping his foot when Thomas didn't order right away. 

"What's in the _Solange_?" Thomas asked, trying desperately to find the drink he'd had last time and failing as he realized the entire board had been rewritten 

"Liquid."

Thomas stared at the barista for a few seconds, waiting for an elaboration. None came, not surprising, and he groaned inwardly.

"I'll have that one, medium please."

True to his word, the barista poured a variety of different liquids into his cup and passed it off with another scowl. Thomas reserved himself to the same table he'd sat at last time, pulling out his Operatic Literature textbook as he took a sip of his drink-

and let out an embarrassing moan as the perfect blend of coffee, cocoa, and cinnamon rolled over his tongue and down his throat. It was like drinking sensation itself.

The barista snickered behind him, apparently having resumed his sweeping, and Thomas barely even cared. The snicker stopped abruptly however, and Thomas felt eyes prickling at his back.

"You're at the school of music?"

Thomas nodded and was going to look behind him at the barista, only to find him leering over his shoulder at his textbook. His long hair brushed over Thomas's shoulder, leaving the scent of honey and tobacco in its wake.

"I'm working on a degree in sound engineer-"

"What's your name?" the barista interrupted.

"T-Thomas. Thomas Bangalter."

Without moving away, the barista turned his head to face him, leaving them close enough that their noses almost touched. Thomas felt a thrill in his veins, his breath catching as the barista's vivid blue eyes.

"I'm Guillaume-Emmanuel, but you can call me Guy-Man, or Guy, or anything really because I don't actually care."

And just like that he went back to sweeping, leaving Thomas with his book and notes, coffee still in hand and blood pulsing a bit too fast in his skull.

Thomas dropped a tip into the jar on the bar again as he left, earning a small smirk from the barista and Thomas allowed himself to believe there was a little more smile and a bit less scowl in it.

 

Wednesday

Even Thomas could admit that going to the café two days in a row was overkill, but he couldn't shake the memory of Guillaume- Guy's- eyes. They weren't overly expressive, or even beautiful, or unfathomable, or any other word Thomas might find if he picked up a romance novel and catalogued all the descriptions of violently blue eyes. They were just really, really blue. And strangely honest, not a hint of affection in them.

It was nearly seven in the evening, a lot later than Thomas had gone to CRYDAMOURE before, and his stomach lurched at the thought of caffeine this late at night. It was hard enough to get to sleep with all the work he had due in the next few days, and a caffeine spike wasn't going to do any wonders for him. Maybe one of the weird coffees was actually a green tea or something.

For the first time, the café wasn't completely empty. Five people were spread out between two different tables and Thomas felt indescribably pleased at the sight of other patrons. Guy was stationed at the record player when he entered, sliding what looked like a Jimi Hendrix album into place. Thomas inspected the drink menu as he waited.

"If you're going to be a regular here, I'm going to have to ask you to come in at the same time every time you come or you'll disturb the other customers," Guy said with a deadpan expression before Thomas could even say hello. A young woman sitting at one of the tables snorted softly.

Thomas smiled with confidence he absolutely did not feel and tried to decide whether or not Guy was joking. The corner of Guy's mouth, usually hidden under hair and now pinned back instead, gave him away as it twitched into a half-smile.

"Very f-funny," Thomas said, steadfastly ignoring the way his tongue felt like a steel plate in his mouth. "Do you make tea?"

Guy nodded and said very solemnly, "Yes, I do."

Thomas rolled his eyes.

"Will you make me a tea? Medium?"

The same woman who snorted before now said, "You better watch out for this one, Guy-Man, he catches on quicker than most."

Guy's expression darkened for a moment and he waved Thomas off in the direction of his usual table, muttering something about the water taking a moment to heat. A few minutes later, Guy brought the steaming mug of tea to Thomas himself, along with a small blueberry scone.

"This one's called Purple Rain, on the house, for your continued patronage."

He was gone, gliding back to the counter before Thomas could fire off a thank-you, and the woman laughed again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you for your lovely comments and kudos! I wasn't expecting so many of you would like it and your support is cherished!

Friday

Three times in one week was too much, Thomas decided as he turned onto the street of the café. Twice was enough, three times and Guy was probably going to chalk him up to some kind of stalker or maybe just desperate. If it came up, Thomas could just use his school work as an excuse. After all, he'd gotten more done in the sparse few hours he'd sat in the window seat than the days and nights he'd spent at the library.

Guy was curled up on the bench out front, cigarette dangling from between his fingers. He held up a battered book with his other hand, turning pages when he took a drag.

"What're you reading?" Thomas asked before he could stop himself. Guy startled slightly, and then his features fell into a scowl.

"None of your business," he replied, grinding his cigarette into the bottom of his shoe before tucking the book into his apron. "What are you studying today?"

Thomas was for a moment tempted to return the same rebuff, and said instead, "Atonal theory. The midterm is on Monday."

Guy shook his head and opened the door just as he had on that first day and Thomas went in. The board displayed the same names today as it had a week ago and Thomas ordered a _Dazed and Confused_ because he was feeling particularly experimental. And, for the same reason, he decided to stand at the bar and talk instead of shuffling his feet like usual.

"Are you taking classes too?" he asked, gesturing to the record player. One didn't amass such an impressive collection of music without having some interest beyond simple listening pleasure.

"Saving up for them. I'm trying to pay for art school."

Well that was a twist.

"So you're an artist?"

"No, I'm just lazy," Guy said, pouring a generous shot of espresso into Thomas's cup. "Art History is interesting and easy and it makes more money than Crydamoure, so..."

Thomas hid a smile with his hand. "Maybe if the barista wasn't such a _couillon_ to his customers he'd make more money."

"Very funny," Guy grumbled, topping Thomas's coffee off with a dollop of foam. "You're the only customer I have at this time, you know? It takes special effort to make coffee when I'd rather be sleeping."

 _Or smoking, or reading_ , Thomas added mentally.

"I'm surprised you haven't been fired, honestly."

Now it was Guy's turn to smile, and he did so widely, with a lot of teeth and a mischievous glint in his exposed blue eye.

"Why would I do something so stupid as fire myself?"

It dawned on Thomas quite suddenly, why no one was ever in the café, why it was so easy for Guy to be rude, and why he always played such loud and relatively unpopular music. He took a sip from his coffee (delectable, perfect, hint of pistachio, just enough caramel) and shuffled about while he tried to think of something to say.

"My parents are pretty well off," Guy offered as explanation, "but they wanted me to pay for school myself. Logically, they invested in this piece of shit café and told me they'd pay the taxes on the property as long as I make enough to cover tuition."

"Why don't you just keep the café and skip university all together?"

Guy shrugged. "Even I have my limit of laziness. I need a backup plan for when I finally lose all of my precious, stressed-out, university customers."

They didn't speak again after Thomas took his seat to cram for the first of his midterms. Guy was sympathetic enough to play mellow classical music, less distracting than the disco or classic rock he usually played, and Thomas left him a generous tip two hours later when he finally left.

 

Sunday

Thomas wasn't actually expecting CRYDAMOURE to be open this late. There was no sign denoting the establishment hours, he just assumed that Guy would keep the place open until past nine to maximize his income. He still hadn't gotten over Guy _owning_ the place, but at the same time it didn't really surprise him too much.

The lights of the café were blessedly on and Thomas let himself in without too many qualms. Guy was no where to be seen, so Thomas settled in his usual seat and spread out his books (atonal theory _again_ ) and tried not to think about how little time he had left to prepare for his exam. He'd only gotten through the first page of his notes when the telltale scratch of the record player forced his attention away.

"You're here pretty late," Guy said as he adjusted the needle. Offbeat reggae began to play and Thomas's eyebrow raised in curiosity. "What do you want?"

"Anything violently caffeinated would be great," Thomas replied, tapping on his textbook.

Guy walked over to Thomas and rested his elbows on the table, leaning in close.

"I mean why are you here? You've got your rich university suite and the library and study rooms." Guy pulled the pen from between Thomas's fingers to stop him from clicking the top. Thomas hadn't even realized he was doing it. "What makes you think I'm going to sit here and make you more espressos when what you really need is sleep?"

Thomas opened his mouth to argue and a yawn came out instead. The pen dropped to the table and Guy sighed heavily.

"I'll make you one drink with half a shot and after that I'm cutting you off."

"That isn't fair," Thomas said with a frown. "This is a business and I'm a customer, you can't just-"

"This is _my_ café, and you are technically breaking and entering," Guy pointed out. "I'm not going to help you poison yourself while you study this- whatever this crap is. What does any of this have to do with sound engineering?"

Thomas allowed himself to deflate- sliding down into a slouch and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. The honest truth was that he had no idea what this had to do with anything, and most of the students in his class were studying theory and it was so frustrating to learn theory when he really wanted to just _do_ something and-

"So why don't you just do something then? Learn how to do what you want to do and just fucking do it."

There was an irritated and familiar bite to Guy's tone that caught Thomas off guard, as if he'd had this argument before. Thomas's hands fell from his face and he looked at Guy, really looked at him- at those cold blue eyes, his brows furrowed together in silent discontent, the way his mouth was pressed firmly shut, like there was more he could say- wanted to say- and just wouldn't.

"I guess it's because I'm scared," Thomas answered honestly, watching the rage ebb from Guy's features. "I'm scared that doing what I love, what I want to do, just won't be enough. How can I risk all I've put into school so far for something that might never work out?"

The anger was completely gone now, replaced with a strange blend of sadness and pity.

"You're a coward then," Guy said, tired. He went around the counter and started up the espresso machine. "You're nothing but a coward."

Thomas couldn't find it within himself to be truly angry with Guy for saying what he already thought about himself, but hearing it was like a wound. He looked down at the pages and pages of notes he'd taken, most of which were written so sloppily in an attempt to capture ever word that it was practically illegible. He couldn't remember a single topic from the last lecture he'd attended, let alone any of the others, and the exam was in less than ten hours.

"What would you do?" he asked, stuffing his books back into his bag. "Go to school? Take the lazy way out and open a café?" Guy froze behind the counter. "When do you plan to stop being a coward?"

The look Guy gave him could only be described as that of resolute contempt, and it hurt more to be on the receiving end of that look than Thomas cared to admit. He should have just kept his mouth shut.

"Get out," Guy told him. The ice blue of his eyes seemed to melt, but they still gave nothing away. "I don't want to see you here again."

The record player screeched and halted, clicking away in the background as the two stared at each other over the counter.

"You don't mean that," Thomas wanted to say. Instead he shrugged and dropped a few euros into the tip jar, murmuring, "For your continued patronage."

 

Friday

At five o'clock in the afternoon, Thomas finished his final midterm, went back to his cramped, crappy little apartment, and pulled up his school website on his laptop to drop out of all his classes. He hovered over the 'continue' button, had a vague moment of worry when he wondered what his parents might think of this development, and then clicked it.

He'd expected to feel some kind of overwhelming horror at himself, or the desire to call up the university and tell them it was all a mistake and to please, please take it all back-

All he really felt was hungry, and a bit lonely.

Thomas had been hesitant to go back to CRYDAMOURE, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was just like the problem with his classes. Either things were going to work out, or they wouldn't; and if they didn't, then he'd figure out what to do from there. He had a feeling that things were going to work out though, he couldn't explain it, he just knew.

The café looked the same as it did on any day, except as he approached, a couple stormed angrily out the door.

"The nerve of that _ingrat_! Don't bother going in," they told Thomas, "The owner is in a foul mood and there will be no more coffee!"

Thomas watched them warily as they stormed off, and then twisted the doorknob and let himself in.

"We are closed today, and tomorrow, and maybe forever," Guy shouted, his body hidden from sight behind the bar. "Kindly take your business somewhere else, and don't bother coming back."

"You should at least put up a sign instead of yelling at everyone that comes in," Thomas replied, closing the door behind him, "Or at least lock the door."

Guy's head popped up from behind the counter, where he'd apparently been sitting on the floor.

"I thought I told you I didn't want to see you again," he grumbled half-heartedly. "Why are you here?"

The same question from the other night. Thomas smiled.

"I'm here because we're the same. You don't want to go to art school any more than I wanted to take atonal theory," Thomas held his breath for a moment- "I think we want the same thing."

Guy scoffed and disappeared back behind the bar.

"Well at least one of us has it all figured out," he drawled, flawlessly keeping whatever interest he might be harboring out of his voice. "Tell me then, Thomas Bangalter, what do I want?"

"You want to make music."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is becoming slightly more serious than I meant it to be...!! I guess I'll have to keep trucking on.
> 
> I do feel compelled to apologize for the cliffhanger ending. I've got two ideas of where it should go and I'm writing them both out to decide which will work better.
> 
> Does someone want to give upcoming chapters (I might expand it to five instead of three...) a read-through before I post them? I'm not looking for someone to super-edit / give an essay of concrit, just quick once or twice over to make sure it isn't stupid/glaring mistakes (Unless you WANT to give an essay of concrit) . I'm offering a 500-1000 word short in return.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 thank you for all your lovely comments and kudos and support and you're all angels. I'll comment back every one of you once I get my shit together long enough to do so.
> 
> * The last and second to last sections are in GUY'S POV instead of Thomas's, because they are no longer in the coffee shop ;D
> 
> ** And please note, this story will now be FIVE instead of THREE parts.

Saturday Afternoon

"Liking music and making music are two completely different things," Guy said, running his thumb along the edge of Thomas's cup to catch any stray whipped cream and then licking it off. Thomas tried not to stare. "You think this is a good idea because you just did something really stupid and you don't want to feel stupid all by yourself." 

He pushed the cup across the counter. Thomas snatched it up and burned himself with the first sip, drawing a snort of laughter from Guy.

"It may be stupid, but at least I'm not still hiding behind my parents," Thomas retorted between hisses of breath. "Give it a chance at least. You can't be any worse off than you already are."

Yesterday, to say the least, had not ended quite as well as Thomas might have hoped. He'd been able to pitch his idea at first- he had a fair amount of amateur recording equipment and a couple of old synthesizer, even a dinged up moog. That was enough to get Guy's attention, but when he mentioned his having dropped out of classes, Guy had practically laughed him out of the café.

 _"Get out, and come back tomorrow when you're feeling like less of a madman,"_ he'd said the night before. Thomas pushed the memory down. 

"There's no harm in trying," Thomas said after moments of silence, taking a more cautious sip of his coffee. "You've got nothing to lose."

Guy eyed him for a moment and reached out to steal another glob of whipped cream. He licked it off his thumb slowly and Thomas imagined the sugar grains melting on his tongue. The thought startled him and he shook it off, made himself stare at Guy's eyes instead. They proved to be just as distracting 

"You're right, I suppose," Guy said slowly. "If you pitch in a few hours a week at Crydamoure, I might be able to convince my parents to put you on payroll. Nothing extravagant, but..." He paused and buried his hands in his hair. "We're both starting to sound a little crazy now."

Thomas held out his cup as Guy stole the last of his whipped cream, and took a long drink 

"You can come over to my place tonight, when you're done here," he offered. "I've got my small studio and some records and stuff."

Guy hid a smile behind his hair and busied himself at the register. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you're coming on to me," he said with amusement.

"N-Not like that," Thomas stuttered. He very rapidly felt himself sinking into unknown territory, without a paddle or a life-vest. Guy was attractive in his way, and it wasn't that Thomas hadn't entertained thoughts of being with him, or around him, it was just so sudden that all he could do was continue tripping on his tongue: "I-I-I-I-"

"God, I'm just joking with you," Guy laughed. "You have no sense of humor. You're going to need a sense of humor to laugh this all off when it fails."

A heaviness sank in Thomas's gut and he laughed along weakly, "Yeah, you're probably right."

Guy's features tightened a little, just long enough for Thomas to catch his scowl. And then he flipped his hair out of his face and delivered one of his bitter smirks.

"I'm leaving here at nine tonight. My brother owes me a favor and he can come in and close shop," Guy told him. "Where do you live?"

"Right d-d-down the street, the ap-apartments across from-from-"

"When you get going, you really get going, don't you?" Guy cut him off and pushed a pad of paper and a pen across the counter. Thomas felt himself flush. "Just write it down, I'm no good at remembering directions."

Thomas scribbled down his address, complete with a simple map, and passed it back, feeling like a total dunce as Guy continued to smile through his hair. He snapped a to-go lid on the coffee and gave a small wave as he headed out the door.

"Thomas," Guy called out, face buried in the espresso maker. Thomas tightened his grip on the handle. "I think your stutter is kind of cute."

If he'd felt himself blushing before, it was nothing compared to now. Any words he had got caught in his throat and he heard himself make a breathy, "Hah-" as he went out the door.

 

Saturday Evening

Guy glowered at himself in the mirror and tried to flatten his hair over one side of his face again. Something about the Paris humidity made it positively unmanageable on the best of days and he didn't have time to stop by his place and spray it down. It was already a quarter past nine, he was going to be fantastically late.

"Guy-Man, I severely doubt your friend is going to care if your hair looks like a rat's nest," Paul shouted from outside the bathroom. "Hurry up and go before he starts to think you're not going."

"What I do is none of your business, _putain_ ," Guy shouted back, "And he never comes in at the same time every day anyway, so he can wait."

The bathroom door opened and Paul's head popped in. "The fact that you know what time he comes in, or that you expect him at a certain time, is creepy and if you were not my brother, I would stay far, far away from you."

Guy scoffed and pushed past him. As if _Paul_ knew anything about anything.

"Don't forget to clean out all the filters," Guy said, putting on his jacket.

"I know."

"And don't forget to sweep either."

"I will."

"Turn off the lights before you leave."

"I know."

"Don't forget the-"

" _Mon Dieu_ , I know! Leave before I throw you out, _puce_."

Guy flicked his brother off with a grin and left, stopping only to dig out the directions Thomas had written him. It was only a few minutes walk (no wonder he came by so often) and Guy smoked two and a half cigarettes on the way, putting out the third on the side of Thomas's apartment building and stared up at the windows. Only one on the second floor had a light on.

He took the stairs, silently wishing he'd finished that last cigarette as he went. Thomas's room was 204 and Guy tried one last time in vain to make his hair look presentable before knocking sharply on the door.

" _Un moment_ ," Thomas called through the door. There was a series of soft thumps and Guy pressed his ear closer to listen. It sounded like he was moving things around.

The door opened quite abruptly and Guy nearly fell through the doorway, but caught himself at the last moment. Thomas was, somewhat comically, out of breath.

"What the hell were you doing in there?" Guy scowled at him, tugging at the bottom of his jacket. "I hope you haven't planned anything strange."

Thomas almost looked insulted. "What kind of weird things would I be planning?"

Guy shrugged and let himself in, toeing off his shoes when he noticed Thomas in his socks. He hadn't seemed the type to wear mismatched socks and the revelation made him want to smile. He scowled more furiously and looked around instead.

It was truly a dinky apartment. The kitchen and living room shared the same cramped space, separated only by the most pathetic island counter Guy had ever seen, and what little floor space remained was taken by a hideous couch and a coffee table, both of which were covered in books.

Regardless of how cramped it was, it had a homey and lived-in feel that starkly contrasted Guy's own sterile living conditions.

"I brought a couple singles I haven't played for you yet," Guy said, shouldering off his bag and pressing it into Thomas's hands. "Where is this state of the art studio you keep bragging about?"

Thomas flushed (he'd been doing a lot of that recently) and pointed at an open doorway across the living room.

Thomas's room was just as cramped as the living room, but it was clean and organized, except for a few books that looked like they'd recently been crammed under the bed. Instead of a desk area, he'd set up all his electronics against the wall.

"You'd have more room in here if you had a smaller bed," Guy said, settling down in the middle of the queen and bouncing a moment to check how springy it was. Too soft, but comfortable.

"If I had a smaller bed, I wouldn't be able to fit on it," Thomas retorted. That much was true, since he was about ten miles of leg and lanky arms.

Guy crawled over to the edge of the bed to examine Thomas's record player. It was a newer model than his own, but the same brand. That saying about great minds passed through his thoughts a moment and he hid a smile behind his hand.

"Are you going to serenade me now?" he asked, shaking his head when Thomas grimaced at him. "I've never actually worked with synthesizers before, I mostly just listen to music."

Listening to Thomas ramble about his equipment, what each part of each machine did, was fifty percent like listening to his father talk about taxes, and fifty percent like listening to Led Zeppelin instead of working. Which was to say, Guy only understood about half of what Thomas said, but he was so enthusiastic in his delivery that Guy couldn't even bring himself to hide his smile.

"So... I was thinking," Thomas finished up, "Since you've got such a good ear, you can pick out a couple of samples from songs you like and I can mix them into a song. That's the easiest way to start, I think."

Guy nodded slowly and hoped he looked like he understood, then leaned back over to Thomas's record player and started picking out artists he recognized. Thomas was ridiculous when he spoke, Guy thought, he stumbled over words if he started talking too fast, and he talked even faster when he was on a topic he enjoyed, and that made him even more flustered and-

It was strangely alluring, actually. Guy didn't question his attraction to Thomas's mouth, or the way he fiddled with whatever was in his hands when he was nervous even though it was supremely annoying. He did, however, question his attraction to someone who was so stubbornly in denial of their flirtation. Guy glanced over at Thomas, unsurprised to find him openly staring with that stupid goofy smile on his face, and winked at him.

"Did you f-find something?" 

Guy passed three records and fought down the urge to laugh.

 

Tuesday

" _Merde_ , Thomas, we've been at it for days," Guy groaned, pressing his face into Thomas's pillow and yawning. "How hard is it to find a sample or whatever?"

Thomas clicked his tongue impatiently and put on another record. His arms were long enough that he could change records from the bed, which is why Guy had elected him as official record changer while he lolled about.

"It takes as long as it takes. Which track did you want to use from Karen Young?" he asked, also with a yawn.

"... Hot Stuff."

"There is no track called Hot Stuff, Guillaume."

"Hot Shot, then. Something with the word Hot in it," Guy said, rolling over and throwing one of the pillows at Thomas and missing. "And don't use my Christian name unless you're going to say the whole thing, heathen."

Thomas laughed. The sound was bright and soft at the same time and Guy moved closer to him without thinking about it, trying to get closer to that laugh.

"Please, forgive me, _Monsieur_ Guillaume-Emmanuel."

"-de Homem-Christo."

" _Monsieur Guillaume-Emmanuel de Homem-Christo_ ," Thomas said, purposefully putting a snobbish lilt into his tone. "You know, I think that's the first time you've told me your entire name."

Guy grunted in agreement and moved a bit closer, until their hips were pressed together, laying side by side on their stomachs.

"You were stupid enough to tell me your name the second time I met you," Guy remembered suddenly. He'd been so annoyed when Thomas first came into Crydamoure, he'd almost sent him away. And look where they were now.

"Why was that stupid?" Thomas asked, putting his head down on his arms as the track began to play.

Guy matched his pose, so they were looking at each other. "Because I could have been a serial killer or something. You can find anything online these days using the internet." He nudged Thomas's elbow with his own. "I could have showed up at your house with a chainsaw or something..."

Thomas snorted in laughter.

"The fact you've even considered that scares me a little," he said, stifling another yawn. "I think I put on the wrong track."

"You did."

Neither of them moved to change it. When Thomas reached over and moved some of Guy's hair out of his face, he kind of saw it coming, but the gesture still made his stomach turn awkwardly. Thomas's long fingers combed through the long strands for a moment, and then he tucked arm back under his chin.

"Why do you wear your hair like that?" he asked.

"Because my nose is too small and my eyebrows are too far apart," Guy replied without hesitation. "Why do you always stare at my eyes?"

Thomas buried his face in his arms and said, muffled, "Because I'm trying not to stare at your mouth."

Guy's breath caught in his chest and for a moment he didn't quite know how to react. And then he reminded himself, the best way to react in any situation is, of course, to make a joke out of it.

"And you call me creepy," he said, poking at Thomas in the side.

"I never called you creepy."

"Must have been my creepy brother then."

Thomas lifted his head from his arms to shoot him an incredulous stare and they both began laughing, harder than Guy remembered laughing in a long while.

Before the air between them could get strange again, the song Guy had wanted Thomas to listen to started up and he brought his finger to his lips.

"This is the one," he said, and Thomas laid his head back down and shut his eyes. "Don't fall asleep, asshole." 

"'m not falling asleep," Thomas said, not even bothering to hide his yawn this time. "Just taking it all in."

Thomas, of course, did fall asleep. For a while, Guy wasn't sure if he should just leave or wake him up, but in the end he just ended up curling up next to him and falling asleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want all of you to know that I ALMOST stopped this at "Because I'm trying not to stare at your mouth" and I DIDN'T because I LOVE YOU. ((lol Guy-Man likes his mattresses like he likes his men. Firm, yet yielding. please don't hurt me XD XD XD))
> 
> Also, for the record, the song they're listening to is "Hot Shot" by Karen Young and they sampled it in "Indo Silver Club" in the Homework album.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will someone please throw me off a cliff before I fail all my classes because I'm writing Daft Punk fic instead of doing my classwork, thank you~ <3
> 
> this chapter is like a million times longer than I intended and I just don't have the energy to proof it / make sure it isn't ridiculous. if you point out a horrible mistake I'll write you a drabble or something.

Wednesday Morning

Guy's alarm was set to go off at five thirty in the morning, so he could get to the café in time to open, and it did so. Loudly.

Thomas woke up with a start and immediately jerked his head forward directly into Guy's nose, whose response was to whine in pain and bury himself in Thomas's chest in an attempt to put pressure on the wound- pressure and heat.

And then he noticed that Thomas's arms were around him, their legs entwined, and his hip was pressing into a particular morning affliction of Thomas's.

"I-" Thomas began, his fingers digging into Guy's back, "I-I-"

They jerked away from each other at the same time, both trying to hide the heat spreading across their faces.

"I need to go to Crydamoure," Guy said quickly, lifting himself from the bed and straightening out his clothes. "Come by later, okay?"

Thomas sat up as well, scooting to the edge of the bed and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Yeah- I'll come by later. Sorry for... you know," Thomas apologized, gesturing to his nose. "I... uh... I'm not us-used to waking up w-with someone."

Guy felt heat swell in his chest and he stepped between Thomas's legs where they were dangling off the edge of the bed and pressed his mouth to Thomas's quickly. Thomas froze and for a moment, Guy thought he'd made a mistake.

And then Thomas's hands came to rest on Guy's hips and he leaned in for a second, slower kiss. Guy felt his hands shaking as he rested them on Thomas's shoulders. Thomas's lips were soft against his, pliable and just barely trembling. They felt the way macchiato tasted, jolting until the cream kicked in. Guy's eyes opened and he let his gaze stray over Thomas as he captured his lower lip between his own, watching the way his brow furrowed.

They parted, sharing a shallow breath between their mouths before Thomas opened his eyes.

"So I'll see you later?" Guy asked quietly, searching Thomas for a reaction. 

Thomas smiled that stupid, wide, goofy smile.

 

Wednesday Evening

Entering Crydamoure should have been awkward, considering Thomas was still reeling from what happened in his apartment earlier that morning. He pushed the door open and stared straight at the floor until he was standing in front of the register.

Guy looked unabashedly straight at him, his typical smirk curling one corner of his mouth upwards.

"Welcome to Crydamoure," Guy said. Thomas could hear the smile in his voice. "What would you like to drink?"

"I think I like you better when you're rude," Thomas replied. "Another slow day?"

Guy scowled, but it wasn't the same scornful scowl as usual. A ghost of a smile danced behind his blue eyes, and Thomas looked down to his mouth instead.

"I r-really... want to kiss you again," Thomas whispered, his palms resting on the counter as he leaned in. "I-If you d-don't-"

Guy kissed him quickly, coming up on his tip toes to reach over the counter before rocking back to hide behind the register. They shared a shy smile and Thomas shuffled his feet about a bit.

"I would like a _Dazed and Confused_ ," Thomas said. "And y-you can come over a-again tonight, if you w-want."

"That isn't on today's menu," Guy replied, "But I'll make you one anyway. I can't ask Paul-" Thomas looked confused- "Paul is my brother- He won't close two nights in a row for me. So I'd probably be over pretty late."

Thomas toyed with the idea of telling Guy he could come over whenever he wanted, but thought better of it. All he could really concentrate on was Guy's mouth- the curve of his upper lip, they way their mouths moved together.

"I can work on the samples we pulled from the records and bring them in tomorrow?" Thomas offered instead. "I've got an iPod jack and we can plug it into the st-stereo. And the next time Paul agrees to cover for you, then you can come over."

Guy nodded and started making Thomas's drink.  

"Which songs did you decide to use?" Guy asked.

"I don't remember all of them," Thomas said, wracking his brain. "The Karen Young song, the cola song... I wanna put vocals on one of them-"

"I'm not singing," Guy interrupted. "You can sing your heart out, as long as I don't have to listen to it."

Thomas rolled his eyes and rested his elbows on the counter. "It isn't really singing," he said slowly. "I have the vocoder- you remember the vocoder?- so you'd be talking into a microphone and I can synthesize the voice and-"

"Thomas," Guy stopped him. "I don't remember which one the vocoder is. As long as I'm not singing-"

"You're not singing. I won't make you sing."

Guy finished Thomas's drink and pushed it over at him. His hair was, as always, styled in a fringe over one side of his face. One vivid blue eye darted down at Thomas's mouth, and then back at his eyes.

"Thank you for your continued patronage," Guy said. "You feeling Zeppelin or AC/DC today?"

Thomas took a tentative sip from his drink. Sweet, but biting.

"Zeppelin, definitely."

 

Saturday Evening

"You want me to close up again?"

Guy snarled at his phone.

"Yes, Paul. I'll pay you for your time, just get in here and-"

"Mum and dad are paying you for my time," Paul corrected him. "You going to see your boyfriend again?"

"He is not," Guy growled, "my boyfriend." _Yet._ "Just... come in, please. I told him I'd be at his place before nine."

"Fine," Paul sighed over the phone. "But you owe me."

" _Merci_." Guy breathed a sigh of relief. "I don't think anyone else is coming in, so I'm leaving now. You'll be here soon?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just go. I'll see you later."

It took him all of five minutes to get to Thomas's apartment (he didn't need the directions anymore to get there) and he stood outside for a moment, leaned back against the wall by the front entrance smoking a cigarette.

He didn't bother knocking at Thomas's second floor apartment door, just twisted the knob and let himself in.

"Thomas!" he shouted, locking the door behind him. "Your overseer has arrived, and he has not eaten since noon!"

Thomas emerged from his bedroom in a pair of pajama pants and a long t-shirt, so different from the button up and cargo pants he usually wore. His hair wasn't even worth mentioning; it was a tangle of curls, partially flattened from where he'd obviously been sleeping. He shuffled his way into the kitchen and nosed around in the freezer.

"I've got chicken nuggets?" he offered. "Or fruit?"

Guy threw himself on the hideous couch, kicking off his shoes and stretched one leg out the length of the couch. The other dangled lazily off the side, his toes dragging along the scuffed up hardwood.

"Chicken nuggets sounds great," he said, adding under his breath, "Typical college student food, of course."

There was some racket from the kitchen and then Thomas was settling down on the couch, sitting rigidly and picking at his fingernails. Guy swallowed a snicker and wormed a foot behind him in an attempt to dig his toes into Thomas's side.

"Come closer, you creepy giant," Guy said, teasing. "You're so serious all the time."

Thomas leaned over him, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Guy's head was wedged uncomfortably at the crux of the armrest and the cushion, but it didn't stop him from burying his fingers in Thomas's thick, curled hair and tugging him in for a wet kiss.

"Your lips," Guy said against Thomas's mouth, "I want to feel them on-"

Thomas's mouth pressed hard against his, and Guy felt his teeth sliding against his lips and he met them with his tongue. Thomas's weight settled on him, their chests pressed together, and Thomas's hand curled around the back of his neck to pull him closer.

Guy felt the tug of Thomas's fingers at his hair and he opened his mouth, sucking at Thomas's lips and tongue and trying to draw him closer- he tasted like caramel, his tongue felt like a whisper.

"I-I-I've never-" Thomas said, pulling away, "I haven't- With girls I have, I mean-"

"Whether it's a man or a woman," Guy said with more confidence than he felt, "the basic idea is the same, isn't it?" He pressed his mouth to Thomas's jaw and rolled his hips up, swallowing Thomas's quiet moan and nipping at his lip.

A beep came from the stove and Thomas pressed a kiss to the corner of Guy's mouth.

"As much as I'd like to stay here," he said, his tongue darting out at the seam of his lips, "I don't really want my kitchen to burn down."

Guy released his grip on Thomas reluctantly, his gaze strayed down to the curve of his ass- to where his pajama bottoms sat so low on his hips that he could see the dimples of his spine where his shirt rode up.

He leaned back, fixed his gaze on the ceiling and slid his hand across the front of his jeans. It was a small blessing, putting that mild pressure where Thomas has previously been had grinding down against him and-

"They're a little burned," Thomas said. "Do you wanna eat them in my room? I finished two tracks earlier, I recorded them onto my computer."

Guy brought his wrist to his mouth and bit down on his skin, willing himself to get up and actually do something instead of laying there being frustrated.

"Yeah, that's fine," he replied, trudging into Thomas's bedroom.

The songs Thomas had put together weren't bad, they were better than Guy had expected at least. The one he'd used the Hot Shot sample in was even good. He chewed at the somewhat burnt nuggets and curled up on Thomas's side of the bed while Thomas played his songs, and then watched as he started fiddling about with his synthesizers.

Guy still didn't quite grasp the entire concept behind Thomas's style of music, but he enjoyed watching him twist at the knobs and play the same clip over and over, with small changes each time. He liked listening to the song develop, and how the slightest changes between each play stacked on each other until the song ended as a completely different song than they began with.

Every now and then he'd throw out a suggestion- "Less bass" or "I don't like that progression" or "Bring out the middle tones more," and Thomas would make more of his small changes. It felt like minutes, but by the time Thomas called it quits and collapsed on the bed next to him, it was nearly two in the morning.

"I think you did good," Guy mumbled with a yawn. "I think the other one, the Cola song, needs lyrics. It's cool, but it's just missing... something."

"Told you so," Thomas said against Guy's forehead. "You wanna write some lyrics?"

Guy hid his scowl against Thomas's collar and dragged his teeth along his neck.

"I'm not singing." 

"Good thing I'm not asking you to sing then."

 

Sunday Morning

For the second time in a week, Guy and Thomas were violently woken up by Guy's crack of dawn alarm, the difference this time being that Thomas did not bang his head into Guy's nose, and that neither of them were particularly surprised to see the other.

"Morning sunshine," Guy yawned, digging his phone out of his pocket and silencing it. "As much as I hate to leave you, duty calls."

Thomas groaned and rolled over directly on top of him, burrowing his face into Guy's neck and mouthing at the skin. He'd felt awkward that first time waking up, unsure of himself and embarrassed by his body's reaction. Now he felt like it was okay to be a little pushy as he imagined what Guy would do if their situations were reversed- if it was him waking up to go to class instead of Guy going to the café.

"You should stay a little while longer," he mumbled against Guy's jaw. "It's not like you can be late to work if you're your own boss."

Guy shifted beneath him, his thigh pressing between Thomas's legs and grinding upwards steadily. Thomas moaned, sucking a small bruise at the juncture of Guy's shoulder and neck, drinking in the soft sounds Guy made.

"As much as I'd like to agree with you, _bastard_ ," Guy said, half-heartedly pushing Thomas away, "I can't afford not to be there when my morning regulars come in for their espressos."

Thomas whined against his throat, ready to argue, but then Guy's hands were slipping under the back of his shirt and nails scratched along his spine.

"If you come in tonight at around ten and help me close shop, I'll come home with you tonight," Guy suggested, "since I don't really feel like going into work and staying there for twelve hours with a mess in my jeans. That's what's going to happen if you- ah- keep doing that."

Thomas felt his dick twitch in response and it took all his willpower to roll over onto his back.

"I can't tonight," Thomas admitted. He reached over and strung his fingers through Guy's hair, scratching softly at his scalp. "My parents finally realized what happened with my classes and-"

"They want a crucifixion?"

Thomas tugged gently at his hair. "No, they want an explanation. Which," he continued, rolling to his side to throw an arm over Guy's stomach, "is almost worse. I have no idea what I'm going to tell them."

"Can't help you there, I'm afraid," Guy said. "Although, I did just remember that today is Sunday."

Thomas raised an eyebrow, puzzled at first, and then positively confounded when Guy pressed into him with a seductive, yet amusing, wink.

"It's Sunday, and Crydamoure opens an hour late and closes at noon."

"Oh." Thomas resumed his hair stroking. And then stopped quite suddenly. " _Oh_."

Guy's hands were a gentle weight on his chest, coaxing him to his back before slipping underneath his shirt once again. Thomas was torn between wanting to close his eyes and the need to look at Guy- his bed messy hair and bright blue eyes. And then Guy settled down on his waist, knees pressed to either side of his hips, and Thomas couldn't look away.

"Is this okay?" Guy asked, tugging up at Thomas's shirt. Thomas sat up just enough to pull his shirt off, coaxing Guy to come down with him so their mouths could meet in an open kiss.

"Aren't you-" Thomas said between kisses, not quite able to catch his breath, "A-Aren't you going to en-end up making a m-mess anyway?"

Guy's mouth descended on his chest in response, sucking a love bite and nipping harshly at it. Thomas tried in all earnestness not to dig his fingers into Guy's shoulders, but he did it anyway with a quiet cry. He wanted so badly to pull of his clothes, Guy's clothes, to force their bodies together and never let Guy leave his bed. He reached down and pulled Guy's shirt off by the collar, mumbling a series of "Sorrys" when it got caught on Guy's head and messed up his hair.

"For the love of God, Thomas," Guy snapped, pulling it off the rest of the way himself, "will you please just lay there and shut up?"

Thomas clamped his mouth shut and nodded, and promptly opened it again to moan when Guy closed his teeth on the sensitive skin right below his belly button.

"Are you going to?" he started saying, burying a hand in Guy's now-tangled hair and teasing it lower. "You don't have to-"

"I want to," Guy said, softer this time. "I wasn't kidding about shutting up though. You talk too much."

"And you don't talk enough," Thomas countered, receiving a scowl in return.

He tipped his head back on the pillows to stare up at the ceiling, trying to concentrate on _not_ letting himself get too excited as Guy's hands tugged at his pajama pants. He felt too hot and too cold all at once when his flesh was exposed. It only lasted a moment though, and then Guy's mouth was on him, lips closing around his cock, hot and-

Guy licked at the slit of his head, his tongue catching the pre-come beading there before he began to suck, just distracting enough that Thomas was caught off guard when Guy's fingers began to trail up his thigh. Thomas tried in vain to kick off his pajamas the rest of the way, reserving himself to simply sitting up on his elbows and watching how his dick was disappearing into Guy's mouth.

He'd been on the receiving end of blowjobs before, obviously, but this was somehow different. He'd never wanted to engage so much with his partner the way he did now, looking down at Guy's face and hoping he'd open his eyes for just a second, just long enough to see those violently blue irises.

"Guy," he pleaded, rubbing small circles at the back of Guy's head as his lips sank further down his length. " _Guillaume_."

Guy's eyes shot open and narrowed and Thomas felt the very careful drag of teeth along the underside of his cock. The sensation sent shivers up his spine, almost the bad kind, and he tightened his grip on Guy's hair. Guy's eyes softened and he pulled back to lick at the head once more in apology, his hand tightening around the base.

As embarrassing as it was to admit, Thomas was already painfully close to the edge by the time his dick met the back of Guy's throat. He clutched the sheets with his free hand, toes curling as he tried to hold back from thrusting upwards, and whined in his throat, Guy's name escaping his lips once more. It was just too much heat, too much to see Guy's cheeks hollowed around him; too much to watch Guy's eyes turn liquid as his gag reflex kicked in, bright blue paling.

"I'm-" Thomas traced his fingers from Guy's neck around his jaw, up to his mouth to press against his lips, tight around his dick. "Fuck, I'm r-really close."

Guy, as best he could with his mouth full, grinned and began bobbing faster with a soft hum. Thomas came with a shout, falling back on the bed and digging his heels into the mattress as he rode his climax, his body becoming more and more sensitive to Guy's touch- Guy's long hair brushing against his thighs, his fingers tickling the base of his belly, the slide of his tongue as he pulled away and to rest his head on Thomas's stomach.

They lay there for a moment, both catching their breath. Thomas tried to make some amount of sense of what was happening between them, tried to find the proper word to describe how their friendship? relationship? was developing and gave up the moment Guy sat up and peered at him, his long hair haloing his face and dropping down to tickle his nose.

"That went a better than expected," Guy said, voice just a bit raspy. When Thomas tilted his head to the side, silently asking for an explanation, Guy continued, "That was my first time with... you know. A guy."

Thomas felt as though his brain had just expanded in his skull, eyes going wide.

"That was- but- I thought-" he stopped when Guy looked down, hair shielding his face in that way Thomas absolutely loathed.

"That bad, huh?" Guy asked, picking at his thumbnail.

"No! It was- you were really good," Thomas began to ramble, starting to feel like an asshole, "It's just that last night you said..."

Guy's shoulders relaxed and he looked up to meet Thomas's eyes. "I remember what I said, I didn't want you to think I was like... inexperienced or something."

Thomas reached out, his hand curling at the back of Guy's neck and he pulled him forward into a slow kiss.

"You have to know I wouldn't have cared," he said, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I like y-you, it doesn't matter if I'm first or fiftieth."

Guy smirked.

"If you thought I had sucked the dicks of fifty different men, we would probably not be having this conversation right now," Guy said dryly. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Thomas's nose. "I've really got to go now though."

A glance at the clock on Thomas's side table revealed that yes, Guy really did have to go about ten minutes ago. Thomas sighed and released Guy, but only after ruffling the back of his hair one last time.

"Thank you," he said, "for coming here," he returned the kiss to the tip of Guy's nose, "and for putting up with me-" another kiss, "and for making me feel fantastic first thing in the morning."

Rather than scowl, Guy actually laughed softly and scrambled out of bed.

"You are more than welcome," Guy said, scooping down to pick up his shirt and adjusting the front of his jeans with a pointed look. "Just know that I expect _très enthousiaste_ reciprocation or I am never making you another coffee."

Thomas, still feeling peculiarly boneless, slid over to the edge of the bed and held back a snicker as Guy pulled his shirt over his head backwards and had to readjust. He held his arms open and Guy stepped between his legs once again to press a kiss to his mouth.

"Is this going to become a thing every time I leave you to laze around in bed?" Guy asked, sulky.

Thomas gave his rump a squeeze and sent him off on his way.

"Yeah, let's make it a thing."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOO IT'S DONE!! This chapter is... a little more sexy than the previous ones. It somehow became 100% more smutty and angsty at the same time. Enjoy!
> 
> * The "Cola song" they referred to throughout the fic is Edwin Birdsong's "Cola Bottle Baby," which is the song they sampled from for "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger."

Sunday, Noon

At exactly 12:05, Guy finished closing up Crydamoure (there had been blessedly few customers today), shoved the café key into one pocket, and fished his cell phone out of another. He stood on the sidewalk staring at the blank screen for a few seconds, filled with that sensation of dread one gets when they feel they've forgotten something.

He didn't have Thomas's cell number. They'd known each other for nearly a month and spend the last two weeks of their... whatever they had, flirting like a pair of school kids, and they'd completely neglected to exchange numbers.

" _Merde_ ," Guy cursed under his breath. He couldn't very well just show up at Thomas's apartment unexpected. Well, he could- he wasn't worried about overstepping his boundaries or being rude- but what if his _parents_ were there.

Guy was accustomed to awkward encounters and general unpleasantness, but meeting parents was one thing he did not do, under any circumstances, until absolutely necessary. Especially since he'd, arguably, encouraged Thomas to drop out of his classes.

Of course, the only logical thing to do at that point was to call Paul, who still didn't know anything about anything, but would be more helpful than stressing about it by himself. Guy sucked on a cigarette as he waited for his brother to pick up.

" _Putain_ , if you ask me to watch the shop one more time-"

"I'm not," Guy barked impatiently. "I don't have Thomas's phone number."

Silence reigned for several moments, and then his brother's wheezing laughter broke through the speaker.

"You are a fucking idiot, you know that?" Paul cackled. "How are you spending so much time with this guy without getting his number? and more importantly, what the hell do you want me to do about it?"

Guy rolled his eyes in disgust. "I don't know, all right? I'm supposed to go over to his place later and his parents might be there."

"So?"

"So... I can't blow him off and I don't want to run into his parents," Guy said, flicking his cigarette butt into the street. Thomas's apartment stood two buildings away and Guy couldn't bear to look at it.

"You're my brother and it grosses me out to say this, but you can't suck a guy's dick and then not meet his parents."

" _Enculé_!" Guy shouted, ignoring the looks of a few passersby that happened to hear. "I didn't tell you that so you could repeat it!"

"The number you have reached is about to hang up on you," Paul replied. "Can't help you this time big brother, you're gonna have to man up."

The line clicked and Guy fought down the urge to throw his phone into the road. He needed a shower and sleep and the only way he was going to get them, short of taking a bus the forty-five minutes to his parents' house and back, was standing less than twenty feet away.

" _Merde_."

Going into the building and up the stairs proved to be the easy part. Once he was standing in front of Thomas's door, it was like the first time all over again, except worse. The door was unlocked (he'd have to remind Thomas to start locking the damned thing before someone broke in and stole his stuff) and the first place Guy looked was right by the door.

No extra shoes. No visitors.

"Thomas!" Guy called out, going straight to the bedroom. "Thomas, you are going to give me your phone number right- oh."

On his bed, sitting hunched over with a hand buried in his hair and his phone pressed to his ear, was Thomas, looking as upset as Guy had ever seen him. Even from a couple feet away, he could hear angry shouting. This was awkward, albeit in a different and less unpleasant way than he'd been expecting.

Thomas looked up at him and managed a smile that was more of a leer while mouthing the word, "Mom."

"I'm going to use your shower," Guy mouthed-whispered back.

Thomas nodded sharply and turned away, back facing the door. Fantastic.

The shower was clean, although Thomas completely neglected to keep it stocked with conditioner which, in Guy's opinion, was an offense nearly punishable by death. He managed to squeeze the last few drops of shampoo from the bottle to wash his hair at least and then he lingered about in the shower for a little while longer, just to be sure Thomas wouldn't still be on the phone when he got out.

His hair was still a little damp (towel drying could only go so far) when he emerged from the bathroom, but he felt blessedly clean.

When he re-entered the bedroom, Thomas was burrowed in his bed, his phone abandoned on the floor.

"Thomas," Guy said softly once, and then again when he received no response.

  

Monday Afternoon

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," Thomas insisted, turning his coffee cup in his hands. "You could have woken me up."

"And spared myself the joy of complaining to you about it? Never." Guy didn't look up as he spoke, standing at the sink drying pastry plates from the noon rush.

Thomas made a frustrated sound and tried again, "Don't you want to know what they said?"

That got Guy's attention.

"As long as we actually make something worthwhile, they're giving me a semester grace period before I have to get a job that pays rent," Thomas told him, and then he added as an afterthought, "Or I could just move back in with them and freeload for the rest of my life, like someone I know."

"That sounds like a marvelous plan," Guy said, sarcasm dripping from his every pore. "Of course when you say 'we' you mean you, since I'm not writing your music for you."

"Everything you've suggested about the songs so far has been helpful."

Guy swung his towel over his shoulder and began stacking the plates away under the counter. "That," he said, "I highly doubt. And I'm still not singing."

This again. The problem was that Thomas had already attempted to record the lyrics over the song he'd mixed, but his voice register just didn't feel right. He'd tried explaining as much to Guy and every time was like talking to a stubborn, watery-blue eyed brick wall.

"All you have to do is talk into the microphone," Thomas told him. "It'll take all of ten minutes."

"Ten of your minutes, or ten of mine?" Guy asked. "Because remember when you were showing me how the vocoder worked in the first place you said ten minutes and it took almost two hours."

"Just come over after you close," Thomas said, pleading. "Give me ten minutes and then we can do whatever you want."

He didn't really think about the implications of what he'd said until the corner of Guy's mouth curled into a look more suited to a predator than a human.

 

Monday Night

Guy had been staring at the notebook with Thomas's scribbled lyrics for well over a minute by the time he looked up at Thomas, expression unreadable.

"This is more sexual than I expected," he said bluntly.

"... It isn't supposed to be."

Guy's eyebrows did a slow crawl up his forehead and he read aloud in English, " _Makes us 'arder. Work it 'arder. Do it fastehr._ Do you want me to sing this or moan it into the microphone?"

A flush worked its way across Thomas's nose and he cleared his throat to cover up a nervous laugh.

"Just... ah, r-read it the way you just did, but t-try to sound more American. Read it one line at a time, not too fast."

Guy rolled his eyes and stood in front of the recording equipment, microphone in one hand and lyrics in the other. Thomas pressed in close behind him, resting a hand on Guy's hip as he reached around him to start recording.

" _Work it. Make it. Do it. Makes us._ "

Thomas drew small circles on Guy's hip with his thumb, his fingers edging beneath Guy's shirt. Guy hissed in a short breath and glared out of the corner of his eye, but continued.

" _'arder. Better. Fastehr. Stro_ -, _bastard_ , what-"

"Just keep going," Thomas said, "And try to pronounce all the letters harder."

Guy relaxed back into Thomas's chest, his smaller body fitting the contour from Thomas's collarbones down to his hips. His hair curled at the nape of his neck, over his shoulder, and Thomas reached up to tuck it behind his ear.

"Start again."

" _Harder. Better. Faster. Stronger_."

He could already hear the difference between what he'd recorded earlier in the day and now. Guy's voice was caramel to Thomas's sweeter butterscotch, it had that sexual edge to it that Thomas couldn't quite reach.

" _More than. Hour. Our. Never._ "

Thomas pressed his mouth to Guy's shoulder, then up to his neck. "You're doing great," he murmured against his skin, "Thank you, for doing this." He was being a distraction and he knew it, but Guy spoke steadily regardless, even as Thomas felt his belly tensing beneath his fingers.

" _Ever. After. Work_... Thomas, If you can't find something more useful to do with your hands then you might as well keep them to yourself."

As Guy started the line over, Thomas grinned into his neck and reached down to fumble at the button of his work slacks. Guy was already half-hard, his dick twitching in Thomas's hand. It felt different than his own, a little thicker and not quite as long, the flare of his head less pronounced. The weight of it in his hand made his own cock throb in his jeans and he pressed his hips hard against Guy's to relieve the pressure.

Guy didn't miss a single word as Thomas began stroking him with one hand, his other tugging Guy's slacks down past his hips. If anything, his voice was even more dense, his words choppy and guttural. Between phrases he paused to catch his breath, eyes fluttering shut as he started moving his hips to match Thomas's rhythm.

" _Work it harder, Make it better_ -" Thomas fingered at the head of his dick, the tip of his finger dipping against the slit before he stroked faster again, " _Do it faster, Makes us stronger_ \- Fuck, faster, please-" Guy broke off into a moan, his knuckles turning white as he clutched the microphone.

Thomas had to pry the microphone from his fingers, and then Guy was turning in his embrace, blindly seeking his mouth in a kiss.

When he came, Thomas swallowed those sounds, licking into Guy's mouth and slowing the movements of his hand, giving Guy a chance to adjust. Guy clung to him, hands clutching at his shirt and his hair and when he broke away, it was to bite hard at his shoulder with a groan. It stung, but it was worth seeing Guy flushed, his hair sticking to his face as he pulled away.

"Fuck- _Fuck_ -" Guy panted, "We're never going to get any work done at this rate."

"You're probably right," Thomas replied, eyeing his messy hand and considering if it would be in good taste to lick it off, or if he should just use a tissue. "We'd better start from the beginning and see where it goes from there."

Guy punched him gently in the shoulder and buttoned his pants, looking mournfully at the bottom of his shirt that Thomas hadn't quite managed to keep clean. Thomas could wash it all later.

"Join me for a cigarette?"

 

Thursday Evening

By the time customers stopped coming in, Guy had already made peace with the fact he wasn't going to see Thomas for the second night in a row. He finished putting away the plates and mugs with a heavy sigh and went to retrieve the broom from the closet. It wasn't like he absolutely expected to see Thomas every day, but he hadn't even _heard_ from Thomas and he had been trying to avoid being too clingy and-

The door opened abruptly and shut with even more noise, practically rattling in its frame. The sight of Thomas was a pleasant one and Guy caught himself before he smiled too widely.

"I finished it," Thomas said, crossing the café in all of half a dozen steps and plugging his iPod into the stereo system. "After we recorded again, I put together all three tracks and I finished it just an hour ago, using the two samples and the vocoder and h-how do you change it from the record player to a-auxiliary?"

"Hello Thomas," Guy replied, tone stale. "It's nice to see you, of course I appreciate your offer to help clean up. There's a mop in the closet and you can get the area behind the counter."

Thomas froze at the record player, his shoulders hunching with embarrassment. Guy tried to _not_ give into his dejected gaze, but it was impossible.

"I'm sorry," Thomas said, facing Guy but still fiddling at the cords that connected the iPod to the stereo. "I didn't even notice how long I was working until all of yesterday passed and I d-didn't want to come in without-"

"Just play the song," Guy cut him off with a yawn. "Play it and then help me clean so we can go to bed."

Thomas broke into one of his wide smiles, the sort that stretched all the way up to his eyes, making them brighter and wider than usual. Guy appreciated the curve of his mouth, the way his entire body eased into that look of satisfaction, and he stared immediately down at the floor to examine the pile of dust he was sweeping up instead.

Thomas, Guy thought, dragging the broom across the floor, was really becoming more than just a distraction.

"Do you wanna know what I'm calling it?" Thomas asked as the song began. Guy made a non-committal noise and Thomas just about whined at him in response. "It's called ' _Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger_.'"

The song was good. Guy had to work to ignore the fact that was his voice in the song (his ridiculous too-deep voice, with that stupid accent that he couldn't get rid of completely no matter how many takes they did) and once he got over that, he realized how well Thomas arranged the sounds they'd been working with for the past couple weeks. It wasn't just that Thomas was good, he actually had talent.

This music thing, it wasn't just a passing fancy.

Guy leaned the broom against the wall and hopped up to sit on the counter.

"Start it again, from the beginning," he said. Thomas beamed and started it over, then moved to stand in front of Guy. For the first time, Guy couldn't think of a single comment to make, nothing critical or constructive came to his mind. Instead, he just stared at Thomas's mouth and listened.

They played the song twice more, and then Guy slid down from the counter. Thomas had gone from looking pleased to worried after the third play-through, since Guy still hadn't said anything.

"Is it," he started, "Do you like it?"

Guy sniffed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"It's good," he finally said. "It's really, really good. If you make a few more like that, you might even find someone willing to produce it."

He retrieved the broom and kept sweeping, noticing and choosing not to react to Thomas's growing confusion.

"Why do you look so unhappy?" Thomas asked, shutting off the music. "I thought-"

"You did what you wanted to do, right?" Guy snapped. "You've got a gift Thomas, so go use it on something, go exploit some young music producer and become a rock star or whatever it is you wanted to do. Stop wasting your time in this stupid café."

If Thomas was shocked at Guy's words, it was nothing compared to Guy's surprise at having said what he said. He hadn't even realized those thoughts had been with him, let alone the fact that saying them would cause his stomach to twist the way it did.

"You're a real _imbécile_ sometimes," Thomas said softly. "I didn't do all this by myself, I made it with you. We did this together."

"I-"

Guy couldn't handle being on the receiving end of Thomas's attention right now. It was one thing to get in the shower together and get a sloppy morning blowjob, or jack each other off when listening to music got to be boring, but it was quite another to be put in such a vulnerable spot.

It was difficult to hear that Thomas, on some level, needed him to continue doing what he was doing. 

"I think you need to go," Guy said quickly, trying to fight off the panic growing in his chest.

Thomas left without another word, the door slamming hard behind him on his way out. It wasn't until Guy had finished sweeping and mopped that he looked over at his record player and saw sitting there on the table was Thomas's iPod.

  

Friday Morning

_You left your iPod. Work's slow right now if you wanna come pick it up._ **~GuillauMAN**

Guy sent the text just after the crack of dawn rush, when all the business people came in for their triple espressos and croissants. He nearly jumped when his phone buzzed seconds after he'd put his phone back in his pocket.

_Be there soon._ **~Thomalter**

Soon, it turned out, was the exact amount of time it took someone with ridiculous giraffe legs like Thomas to speed walk from his apartment to the café. That's to say, Guy hadn't even finished cleaning off the foam machine when Thomas was lurching in through the door in his pajama shirts and a pair of ripped jeans.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Guy stared at the counter instead of Thomas, his hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to think of what to say. He'd thought about it all night and come to the conclusion that life was, as of late, better with Thomas than it had been without him, it was just _saying_ it that was difficult, especially since he didn't know why it was necessary to say those sorts of things in the first place.

"About yesterday," he started. "I didn't- I don't mean to keep pushing you away. It's just... a thing I do without really thinking about it."

He chanced a glance up at Thomas's face and winced at the skeptical look he found there.

"I do it with everyone, and everything," Guy said. His jaw felt tight, his chest felt tight, his mind was torn between shutting like a steel trap and the desire to just remove that brain to mouth filter once and for all. "I gave up at school because I didn't want it to work out, you know? And I push away my customers because I'd rather they stop coming on my terms than just... stop coming one day and I'm trying to _not_ -"

" _Guillaume_ ," Thomas interrupted, "If you're trying to apologize, you don't need to."

"I- what?" Guy's hands stilled. "You're not like... mad?"

Thomas leaned across the counter, eyes bright. "If I was going to take offense at the things you say and do, I would have given up the first time I came in here and you wouldn't tell me what was in your drinks. Or the time after that, when you didn't want to serve me because I came two days in a row. Although I do wish," Thomas paused to comb Guy's hair back out of his face, "I wish you would treat your customers better."

Guy caught Thomas's hand in his own and threaded their fingers together.

"I'm sorry anyway," he said, and then let his face fall into a comfortable smirk. "Well, if you're not going to order anything, I'm going to have to kick you out because you are a tremendous distraction."

"I've actually gotta go," Thomas told him. "I've got a meeting with my land lady about some overdue bills and she's probably standing outside my room right now, wondering where the hell I went. Come by after work?"

"I'll text you."

Thomas pressed a kiss to his wrist before he left, and Guy felt the warmth of his mouth there for the rest of the day.

 

Friday Night

"I still feel like a complete _connard_ ," Guy said, falling back on Thomas's bed and staring up at the ceiling. "You're so much better at this than I am though, I don't know how to use any of that cra- equipment."

Thomas glared at him good naturedly from where he was tweaking the settings on one of the synthesizers. Just that morning he'd been so frustrated, trying to figure out what he was going to do if Guy refused to collaborate with him, and then it had suddenly occurred to him that it didn't even matter. It was more important to respect each other's space, he realized, than try to put parameters on their relationship.

"You don't have to know how it works to hear what it's doing," Thomas replied. And then added, "I've tried to teach you how it works and you always get distracted."

"That is because you are distracting," Guy retorted. "I will admit that I've got a better ear than you. You've got horrible taste."

Thomas shut off the synth he was working on.

"I guess my bad taste accounts for our friendship then," he said, putting on a James Blake record. "Scoot over."

Guy stretched out more, taking up most of the bed. "Make me."

Sliding between Guy's legs was an easy fit and Thomas rested his weight on one arm, freeing the other to trail his fingers down Guy's side. He paused at the bottom of Guy's shirt, asking for silent approval before dipping his hand underneath and pressing his cold palm to Guy's belly.

"You're so pushy," Thomas said with a laugh as Guy tried to slap his hand away. "I really want to..."

Guy stopped shifting about, stilling as Thomas leaned in closer.

"You want what?" he asked breathily. His eyes darted down to Thomas's mouth and back up to his eyes, and Thomas could see the pink of his tongue as it slid along the inner seam of his lip.

"I think you know what I want," Thomas replied, suddenly feeling shy.

"I'm sure I do," Guy said. He reached up and ran the pads of his fingers over Thomas's mouth and Thomas kissed his fingertips. "But since you made me sing those ridiculous lyrics, I'm going to make you say it."

Thomas leaned in and pressed their mouths together, and then brushed his lips against the soft skin of Guy's neck, just below his ear. "I r-really want to f-fuck," he stammered, catching Guy's earlobe between his teeth and tugging gently. He felt Guy's thighs tighten around his hips and he grinded down suggestively.

"In that case," Guy said, out of breath. "We should fuck."

Considering Guy was built quite a bit smaller than Thomas, it was surprising when he was able to flip them over, and then Thomas found his wrists pinned to the mattress as Guy kissed him soundly.

"Do you have like... lube and condoms?" Guy asked, sitting back on Thomas's hips and tugging his shirt off.

Thomas sat up and wiggled out of his own shirt, then closed his hands over Guy's hips and gave him a gentle squeeze.

"Yeah, in the drawer," he said. "Are you sure you-?"

"Yes, _Dieu_ , I'm sure," Guy insisted. "I'm not going to break, Thomas. And if I don't like it, I'll tell you and we can go back to messing with the vocoder or whatever."

Before Thomas could reply, Guy pushed him to his back once more and kissed him, nipped and licked at his lips until Thomas opened his mouth and then their tongues met, languid and wet. He didn't even notice Guy tugging at the front of his pants until a hand closed around his length and Guy was shifting to get his jeans off the rest of the way.

"Are you sure we're not going too fast?" Thomas stopped to ask once more and Guy pressed their foreheads together and pulled his hand back.

"I want to sleep with you," Guy said, "And you want to sleep with me, and we are responsible adults, Thomas. We're not fourteen years old and your mother isn't going to come knocking on the door."

"I know, I just don't wanna... pressure you or anything."

Guy smiled and sat back once again, this time running his hands over Thomas's chest, tugging gently at his chest hair and stopping to pinch his nipples to hard nubs. Thomas's breath hitched and he inadvertently thrust his hips upwards, seeking friction.

"You're not pressuring me," Guy said, undoing the front of his own jeans and pulling out his cock. "If someone's putting on the pressure, it's probably me."

Although Guy's hands were smaller than Thomas's, he managed to stroke their lengths together, his hand moving slow as the heads of their dicks bumped and grinded. Thomas groaned and brought his forearm up over his eyes, trying not to think too hard about how good it felt, how the heat was spreading in his belly, and how obscene Guy looked with his kiss swollen lips and half-closed blue eyes and the way he moved his hips-

The friction stopped abruptly and Thomas peered past his arm to watch Guy slide off the bed and wriggle the rest of the way out of his slacks, then start picking through the bedside table for the lube and protection. Honestly, Thomas had spent the day after that morning (the first time Guy used his mouth on him and Thomas realized just how attracted he was) researching these kinds of relationships and he'd gone out and bought the lube the next day. He hadn't opened it or used it or anything, but he'd thought about it sometimes, when he couldn't sleep and Guy was curled up in bed next to him.

"Take off the rest of your clothes, slowpoke."

Thomas shimmied out of his pants and boxer briefs and situated himself further back on the bed to lean against the pillows and headboard. Guy crawled up on top of him, knees on either side of his waist, and for the first time he actually looked a bit nervous.

"Do you want me to-" Thomas asked, gently pulling the lube from his hand and opening it. "I d-did some research and-and-"

Guy's expression softened into a smile and he leaned in to press a kiss against Thomas's mouth. "You researched, like you sat around watching gay porn or something?"

Thomas flushed. "Not porn," he said, reaching forward and taking Guy's dick in hand once more. Guy's eyes fluttered shut and he moaned softly. "I-I'm gonna use my fingers first, okay?"

Guy nodded, eyes shutting tighter as he spread his legs apart to make room for Thomas's hand. For his part, Thomas did his best to go slow, spreading the lube around his entrance, putting soft pressure at the puckered muscle and watching for a reaction before pressing in the first finger. Guy hissed in a breath and Thomas chased it with a kiss.

"How does it feel?" he asked, moving slow and waiting for Guy to relax around him.

"Not bad," Guy admitted, eyes still closed. "It doesn't hurt it's just... weird. Can you- just, jack me off a little faster?"

Thomas pulled his hand back and slid in a second digit, stroking Guy's dick more firmly. Guy rocked his hips back experimentally, his shoulders relaxing. When he opened his eyes finally, Thomas felt his dick throb where it was laying hard against his stomach.

"C-can you touch me too?" Thomas asked nervously, sighing with relief when Guy licked into his mouth and began stroking him.

It was strange, the give and take between them, feeling his fingers stroking the inside of Guy's body. He tried to remember everything he'd read online, shifting the angle of his stroking until suddenly, Guy shuddered over him with a shout.

" _Merde_ , do that again," he groaned, "Fuck, yes right there-"

Thomas stopped stroking Guy's length, instead steadying his hips with a gentle hold.

"I'm adding another," Thomas said, hearing the tremor in his own voice and fighting off a flustered blush. "Are you still okay?"

"Thomas, if you stop then I won't be okay," Guy all but growled. He had abandoned jacking off Thomas, instead he'd brought his hands to Thomas's shoulders for leverage as he rolled his hips back. "Stop going so slow, I'm not made of- Fuck-"

Guy's brow furrowed and Thomas stilled. "Does it-?"

"It doesn't really hurt," Guy explained, "It just... I can feel the stretch and it's... different. Fuck, I'm ready, where's the condom?"

As much as he wanted to keep this slow, Thomas couldn't bring himself to argue and he ripped the condom from its package and rolled it on with shaking fingers, slathering on another layer of lube for good measure. Guy shifted on his knees, finding the best angle, and he leaned in and engaged Thomas in a slow kiss.

"I'm really nervous," Thomas murmured against his mouth, feeling the head of his cock nudge against the entrance of Guy's body.

Guy took a deep breath. "I'm a little nervous too," he said, "But I trust you, you big, weird giraffe person."

Thomas laughed against Guy's jaw, feeling Guy's body also shake with soft laughter, and then Guy was sinking down on him, his body suddenly too hot and too tight, and the laughter turned into a ragged moan. Thomas cursed under his breath, his fingers tightening on Guy's hips. He couldn't believe how Guy's body was giving way to him, how their hips were suddenly pressed flush together. Their gazes met, blue and dark brown.

"Is it good?" Thomas asked, fighting the overwhelming desire to thrust up into Guy's body.

"It's good," Guy said, lifting himself and sinking back down slowly, still trying to adjust. And then he broke into a small smirk and said, "You look really hot right now, all serious and fucked." Guy's hands tightened on his shoulders and he started moving faster, using the leverage to create a rhythm.

Thomas groaned and lifted his hips to meet him, biting hard at his lip and trying not to move too abruptly. Instead of the tightening in his balls, he concentrated on Guy- how every part of his body moved in harmony and how his dick was leaking pre-come all over both their stomachs. He thought about the tightening of Guy's body, his short fingernails biting into his shoulders and back.

"I didn't wanna be the first one to say it," Thomas panted, "But I'm going to come if you don't take it easy."

Guy grinned wickedly, leaning in for a sloppy kiss. "I'm close too," he said, biting hard at Thomas's lip. "Touch me, Thomas. I want you to get me off."

Thomas felt himself right on the edge and he started tugging at Guy's length, stroking him fast and finally allowing himself to thrust up into Guy's body. Guy shuddered and cried out, his knees suddenly digging into his sides almost painfully as his body tightened around him. Thomas felt himself release, and the aftershocks of Guy's climax wrecked both their bodies for a few moments. He ran his fingers through the sticky mess on his stomach and brought it to Guy's mouth to watch him lick it off.

And then he was without form, the tension flowing out of muscles he hadn't even realized were tense as Guy collapsed on top of him.

"That-" Guy mumbled, pressing his mouth to Thomas's chest and neck, "That was really, really good. And now I really want to sleep so we can do it again in the morning."

Thomas stifled a laugh in Guy's hair, kissing the top of his head and running his still-tingling fingertips along his back.

"Maybe we can try it the other way in the morning?" Thomas offered, easing himself from Guy's body and pulling off the condom carefully. Guy pulled back and looked at him curiously, one eye closed in exhaustion.

"Really?" he asked. "You'd let me fuck you?"

Thomas tossed the condom in the bin and turned them both over on their sides. "What do you mean 'let you?' Of course-" he yawned and tugged the covers over them, "Let's just have this talk in the morning."

Guy was the one to crawl over him and turn off the light in the end, and then twenty minutes later when the record ran out and began to buzz and static, Thomas had to reach over and shut that off.

"Good night," Thomas finally mumbled, overheating from being pressed so close together and completely unwilling to pull away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank all of you who have given kudos, or commented, or just read and enjoyed the fic without doing either of those things. You're all amazing :) This definitely isn't the end of the Coffee Shop 'Verse, I'll revisit it eventually; but for now, I've got a couple other ideas rolling around in my head ;D I think my only regrets with this fic were A) not planning it better for the long term and B) Not including more Paul! Because who doesn't love Paul?
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support <3


End file.
